I Will Not Ask And Neither Should You
by pancakesforbreakfast
Summary: Natasha's not a world-renowned spy for nothing. She definitely noticed when Mjolnir wiggled under Captain Roger's hands. A conversation and some contemplation. (Written pre-Endgame, but I just rediscovered it in my drafts)


_A/N: I actually wrote this long before Endgame came out, but I only just found it floating in my drafts now. (You can imagine how happy I was when THAT happened in Endgame!) So here you go, very late, ENJOY!_

"So, Rogers," Natasha asks later, one eyebrow raised and head tilted towards the table Thor's hammer still rests on. "You don't want to rule Asgard?"

Steve takes two more of the glasses she's been gathering up and rinses them in the sink behind the bar. He finishes washing them, carefully set the rims upside down on a towel to dry, before he responds. "Can't say I've much of an appetite for ruling, Romanoff. I've always been more of a soldier than a king." He holds her gaze carefully; they've been partners long enough for him to hear the double meaning in her words.

She searches those blue eyes, still clear despite the four beers and six shots she watched him drink, and sees only sincerity. She knows his tells by now, knows to look for the lift at the left corner of his mouth when he outright lies or the tick along his jawbones when he holds something back (the twitch she catalogued the day she met him; the smirk took until she cornered him in a S.H.I.E.L.D. hospital with a stolen flash drive). His gaze is steady and his jaw relaxed.

She's known soldiers and kings. She has fought them and killed them. She's been soldier, still is in many ways, and Alexei used to call her a queen – his Queen of Death. It's why she didn't want to try to lift the hammer. She's been unworthy for years, and that much red isn't wiped out quickly. She doesn't need the reminder.

But Steve, Steve is neither a soldier nor a king, despite what he says. Too humble to be a king, too intelligent and caring to be a soldier. She's seen Dr. Erskine's notes — and Director Carter's for that matter – she knows that the skinny kid from Brooklyn was chosen precisely because he'd never make a perfect soldier. Even before the ice, before the serum, he'd been a force unto himself, always following his heart over his orders.

She hadn't believed the hubbub about him. Hadn't believed that anyone could be as selfless as the history books made him out to be. Even after Fury handed her S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files on him, full of notes written by the first Director herself detailing not only his heroic deeds but the small moments too, like calling every member of his show crew by name. She only started to believe once New York City was filled with alien invaders, and she watched his brain go into overdrive when Clint mentioned trapped civilians. After working with him for two years, she knew he was far from the perfect poster boy America thought he was, but also that that didn't make him any less honorable.

She'd spent all that time looking for cracks in his façade. Everyone has a dark side. Even Clint, who had saved her and helped her down the road to some kind of redemption, had a ledger almost as bloody as hers. But so far, the only dark side she could find to this man standing in front of her was his loyalty that sometimes ran too deep for his own good. And she could hardly fault him for that.

Mjölnir could not either, it seemed.

She'd seen the slight movement when the Great Captain America had grasped the hammer. And more than that, she'd seen Thor's reaction – the sudden doubt and questioning that flashed across his features before Steve made a show of failing at the task. She wasn't a world-renowned spy for nothing.

So perhaps, she shouldn't be surprised that there's no lie in his expression now as he tells her he has no desire to rule.

"You continue to astound me, Captain," Natasha finally replies. She twists her lips into a smirk, but she knows he can read the sincerity in her voice from the way his mouth softens at the edges.

"I aim to please, m'lady," Steve says, eyes relaxing and lips widening into a smile. He lifts another pair of martini glasses from the counter between them and returns to his chore. She watches in silence for a few more minutes before she bids him goodnight and slips off to her rooms.


End file.
